Tales of the Steward
by Itarille1
Summary: Short pieces concerning the 27th Steward of Gondor, as recorded by one of his grandsons - an extended version of "Reward" is uploaded
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

This copy is made in Minas Tirith, in the eightieth year of the reign of King Eldarion Telcontar (IV 199)

Seeing that many people in Minas Tirith have benefitted from reading the Thain's Book, the King instructed me to gather all other records that can be found concerning the War of the Ring and the return of the King Elessar to Gondor. In this task I have been greatly aided by Lord Barahir of Ithilien. He was well known throughout Gondor as a master of lore and history, and as a fine storyteller. He translated many accounts of the Elder Days and added much annotation to the Annals of the Kings, Annals of the Stewards, and the Thain's Book.

Being the grandson of the Steward Faramir and a friend of the Kings Elessar and Eldarion, he recorded many stories which are not included in the Annals or the Thain's Book. For many years, these records have remained a personal treasure of the descendants of the Steward Faramir. Now the King suggests that those who read these records may see many things that cannot be seen in the Annals: among the most important of these is how the Steward perceived the return of the King, and how the Stewards have remained indispensable to Gondor. With the permission of the family of the Steward, I made an abbreviated copy of those records.

Findegil, the King's Writer


	2. Reward

Elboron was the first son of Faramir, the Steward to King Elessar. He was twelve years old when he first learned from his tutor about the return of the King to Gondor. His father and mother had told him many times about the War of the Ring and the return of the King, but it was then that he truly realized that his forefathers, and even his father for a brief time, had ruled Gondor.

"Father," Elboron asked, "why did you surrender Gondor to the King?"

Faramir turned to face his son. "Surrender? Gondor was never surrendered," he answered.

"But if you meant to ask why I surrendered my ruling authority, why I do not rule Gondor as my father and my grandsire did before me, it is because the King returned. I am the Steward of Gondor, and all stewards took the oath to rule Gondor until the King should return."

"But my tutor told me," rejoined Elboron, "that long ago the Steward Pelendur refused the claim of King Arvedui to the crown of Gondor. I hold the King Elessar with highest regard and loyalty, but how was his claim different than Arvedui's?"

"Do you agree that Gondor should have rejected Arvedui's claim?" It was Faramir's custom to reply his childrens' questions with another question.

Elboron thought for a moment, and then he said, "Gondor belongs to the House of Anarion."

There was a strange expression in Faramir's face. It was as if both joyful and sorrowful memories suddenly came back to him. "I should not put it so," he said gravely. "Say rather that the House of Anarion belongs to Gondor. But remember that in the early days of Gondor, both Isildur and Anarion were her Kings. Arvedui's claim was not without grounds. Have you read the Annals of the Kings? There it was never stated that Isildur relinquished his royalty in Gondor. I tend to agree with Arvedui that when Isildur departed to Arnor after Elendil fell, it was to take up the high kingship, which means that he ruled over both the Northern and Southern realms. It is hard to believe that he intended that the realm of his father should be divided forever.

"And why should the crown not descend from father to daughter? Not only was this acknowledged in Numenor, the Stewards later acknowledge the succession from father to daughter. Do you know this?"

"I do know that, Sir," answered Elboron proudly, "Denethor I was the son of Rian, daughter of Barahir. And we are descended from the daughter of Belecthor I."

Faramir nodded. "Morwen, daughter of Belecthor I. You know your lessons well. You agree with me then, and with Arvedui, that as Lady Firiel was the only surviving offspring of the King, it was right that the crown should be given to her line?"

"To her or to her son, perhaps, but not to her husband," said Elboron.

Faramir seemed pleased with his son's reply. "In this matter I agree with you. Had Firiel claimed the crown, or Arvedui claimed it for their son, Gondor's answer might have been different. It is hard for the lords of Gondor to let someone from the North to rule over them: a stranger he was, though their kinsman from afar and Elendil's heir.

"In this way Aragorn's claim was different from Arvedui's: he is descended not only from Isildur, but through Firiel, he was also a descendant of Anarion. After King Earnur left, the Council of Gondor could not find any descendant of the kings with undisputed claim to the crown. The sons of King Ondoher died childless. If Gondor was to have a king, we were left with two choices: to turn to the line of Firiel, daughter of Ondoher, or to acknowledge Isildur's high kingship and turn to his line. And both choices led us to the same claimant."

To this Elboron gave no reply. He lowered his eyes and spoke softly, "Some people said that Lord Aragorn became king because he brought a great army with him... and after the siege, you had no strength to oppose him."

He looked up again and saw a light flashed in his father's eyes. But when Faramir replied, it was without anger. "I do not know from whom you heard this false account. Did we not tell you many times about the siege and the battle at Pelennor? The King did not come to seize Gondor as a tyrant would, Elboron. He came to help us fight the Enemy, hopeless though it seemed. He fought for Gondor even though there was only a little hope that we would accept him as king.

"And if the one who claimed the crown was not the rightful one, think you I would not have withstood him? Think you I would not have defended Gondor, though he brought a mighty host, though I should pay with my life? But not such was the case. What great army was there? Not more than seven thousands marched to the Black Gate, and after the battle, many of them were hurt. Would the knights of Rohan besiege a city they had so recently defended? Apart from the Rohirrim, it was the knights of Gondor that Aragorn led to the Black Gate. Even then I was their Captain General. I should not sing my own praises, but I dare say that at least the Guards of Minas Tirith and Osgiliath, and the Ithilien rangers would never fight against me."

Elboron suddenly remembered Beregond, Mablung, Anborn, and so many knights of Gondor that he knew. _But the Captain, we mean your father, Master Elboron, can govern men and beasts. We will follow him even under the shadow of the Black Captain_, they once said.

"I suppose they would not, Sir," said Elboron. A little smile was on his lips.

His father smiled, but then his face grew solemn again. "Son, do you wish to be king?"

This surprised Elboron. "Do I wish to be King? Not at all! I guess the stewardship is daunting enough for me. No, I asked you these not because _I_ desire to be king. I was thinking about _you_, Father. You defended Gondor for so long, laboured so hard, that it seemed only right that you should get your reward. As for Lord Aragorn ... it is true that he delivered Gondor from the siege, but that seemed too short a labour compared to yours."

Faramir laughed. "Short? Elboron, I suggest you read about Captain Thorongil. Or better still, next time you meet Aragorn, ask him to tell you about Captain Thorongil.

"As for my reward, I am grateful that you deem me so worthy. But Gondor is not a reward, neither for me nor Aragorn. Gondor is not a possession, Elboron. It was not given to the King as a reward of his labour. Nor did it ever belong to the Steward. The stewards and the kings were given authority to rule, to defend Gondor from any threats, to protect the remnant of the Men of Numenor. Our reward is to see Gondor in peace."

Elboron was accustomed to his father's subtle answers, though he was not sure he fully understood them.

"One last question, Father. Do you resent surrendering your office to the King, though you knew it was your duty?"

Faramir was silent for a while. Finally he said, "There were a knight and his lady who had to go on a quest to a distant land. They loved their children so, just like I and your mother love you and your brothers. But they could not take their children on their quest, as it might prove to be a perilous journey. So they entrusted their young children to a foster family. Now their foster mother took a very good care of the children and came to love them as if they had been her own.

"When the knight and his lady finally returned, do you think she was sad? Or was she glad, because she loved the children, and they were reunited with those who also loved them?"

Elboron answered, "I think she would have been glad, if she truly loved them. But surely she would have been sad that she has to part from the children, and even more so if she could not see the children anymore."

"And I can still see Gondor after the King returned, Elboron," Faramir said. "I see Gondor in peace, Ithilien almost the beautiful realm it once was, Minas Tirith full of light, and the White Tree in flower again. So I am glad, for I love Gondor. I think I may go so far as to say that I love her truly."

They were silent for a while. Then Faramir caressed his son's hairs. "Have I answered your questions, young Steward?"

"Yes, Sir. But I still believe you would have made a great king."

Faramir laughed. "You are indeed your mother's son! You are so keen to sing my praises. But I would not be a king, for your mother said that she did not desire to be a queen."

* * *

><p>That night, when they had retired to their chamber, Faramir recounted Elboron's questions to his wife. Eowyn was impressed by this discourse.<p>

"Your answers were most praiseworthy," said Eowyn. "I have never heard anyone talked about kingship in that way."

Faramir smiled wistfully. "But I am not the first to think that way."

"Do you mean someone imparted this wisdom to you?" asked Eowyn. "Then the lore masters in Minas Tirith must be wise indeed."

"They are wise, and I learnt from perhaps the wisest in his time," Faramir replied. "Many years ago, another heir of another steward asked similar question on kingship to his father. And the answer that I gave our son was mostly derived from his answer.

"Boromir was about Elboron's age when he asked Father how many years were needed to make a steward a king. Upon hearing Elboron's questions, I was troubled that perhaps he too is displeased that he would someday be a steward and not a king."

"Not Elboron," said Eowyn. "If I know anything about our son, he had these questions only because he somehow thought Aragorn supplanted you."

Faramir laughed. "That is precisely what he told me. Some people say I read the hearts of men shrewdly, but when it comes to our children, you read them better!"

Eowyn smiled with satisfaction. Then she remembered another part of Faramir's childhood reminiscence. "Did you say that your father answered Boromir in the same way you answered Elboron? I know the Lord Denethor was renowned for his lore, but in the matter of kingship, he ..."

She did not finish her words and simply looked at her husband.

Faramir nodded. "Yes, I know it is difficult to reconcile my account to the accounts of Father's last years. His despair clouded his wisdom in those dark days, but Father was a wise and noble man, Eowyn. After he answered Boromir that ten thousand years would not suffice for the Steward of Gondor to assume the throne, he instructed us not to see Gondor as ours to lord over, but rather we should see ourselves as her guardians."

For a while they looked at each other and said nothing. It was Eowyn who break the silence. "What a pity," she said earnestly, "that so noble a lord should be conquered by the Enemy's deception."

"In a way, perhaps it was his sacrifice as the Steward," Faramir said softly. "He spent his whole life defending Gondor. In the end Gondor was saved, but he was conquered."

"But even he was not wholly conquered," Eowyn countered. "For is it not partly due to the wisdom he imparted to you that you have become a great man who could reject the Enemy's deception and could faithfully surrender his charge? And tonight our son actually benefited from his wisdom."

Faramir remained silent for a moment, but he took Eowyn's hand and kissed it with gratitude.

"You are right," he finally said, "he was not wholly conquered."


	3. Contentment

"My Lord Steward, may I speak with you for a while?"

Faramir stopped and turned. He was walking out of the King's House after a supper with Aragorn and his family. He was not surprised to find that it was Eldarion who called him. It did not pass his notice that the young man had looked at him rather curiously several times during their meal.

"Surely, my lord. Should we go to the tower? I thought of going there to see the stars and your company would be most welcome. Perhaps we can even see Menelvagor."

They went through many passages and climbed up several staircases, and at last, through a little door, they came out upon a small balcony almost at the top of the Tower of Ecthelion. From there they could see the White Tree and the fountain, the houses in the lower circles, and even faintly the homesteads in Pelennor. Above them the stars shine brightly.

"The Swordsman is not here tonight," Eldarion remarked.

"The stars are always there," said Faramir. "It is just that we do not see them sometimes. But the sky looks beautiful tonight, even with only a few stars visible."

Eldarion looked at him as one who is surprised with what is said. Then he said, "You are truly a remarkable man, Uncle Faramir."

"Ah! So we are back to 'Uncle Faramir' now. Good! You do not need to tell me the reason of your sudden formality, but tell me, why do you think I am remarkable? Is it because I am easily contented by few stars?"

Eldarion smiled, but he answered with a voice as solemn as a young man of fifteen could muster, "Because you are contented in seeing the White Tree in bloom and Minas Tirith in peace, though it means surrendering your office."

"You have been reading the account of your father's coronation," said Faramir.

"I read that and the Annals of the Kings and Stewards years ago," said Eldarion, "and the way you welcome the return of the King has not left my thoughts ever since. But recently Master Peregrin told me about your first encounter with the Ringbearers."

"You seem to like story much, Eldarion."

"Just like you," the young man said softly. Then he looked intently at the tall man before him. "What you did was very noble, Sir. To surrender your authority, after long years of labour, to a king who was so tardy in coming ... I think only a very brave man can do that."

Faramir returned his gaze. "What would you do were you in my place?" he asked.

"I would do what you did, Sir," Eldarion replied after a moment hesitation, "though perhaps with a slight resentment towards the King. But I would not shirk my duty, and would not cling to an authority which is not mine."

"_Thus saith the King's heir_," said Faramir, "then I was right to be content."

That night they continued to speak of many matters. When they were about to went back, suddenly Eldarion cried with excitement, "Look! Is that not the belt of the Swordsman?"

Faramir looked up and indeed, there were three stars shone brightly, as if they were gems set at a belt. "Look to the left of the belt, Eldarion, and you can even see Borgil."

That night the Steward and the King's son descended the Tower of Ecthelion with contentment, but the most part of that was not due to the appearance of Menelvagor.


	4. Wishes

It was a pleasant summer night in Minas Tirith. The White Tree looked glorious, illumined by the light from the stars above. Its leaves danced softly as the wind passed through them. The King and the Steward of Gondor sat side by side in a bench in the Court of the Fountain. They were no longer in the summer of their life, and they both knew it. For few years now the Steward had let his heir taken more and more parts of this duty. He was still hale, of course, such was the privilege granted to his line. Yet he knew that he did not have to wait long now to rejoin his lady, who passed away twelve years back. He had thought that it was wise to let his heir exercised the authority that soon would pass to him. But it was not only his son that he felt he had to prepare. The King, who had passed the tale of eight score years, was still hale. His strength was not what it used to be, yet they knew that he, in whom the truest blood of Numenor was to be found in that age, would most likely still have another score years, if not more.

And that means that he would have to rule with another steward at his side. The Steward had seen how with the passing years, the King had felt the loss of his friends and lieges more and more keenly. In the first forty years of King Elessar's reign, most of the lords of the fiefs who were present in his coronation had become old and died. They who marched bravely under his lead to the Black Gate had one by one left to answer a higher summon. Yet the King had not dwelled in grief. For those years were the time of rebuilding and healing. Many things had occupied their hearts and minds: the rebuilding of the first circle of the City, the restoration of Ithilien, the renewing of relation and trade with Dale, Erebor, and even Harad, battles with the Easterlings and rebels in Umbar, and the re-establishment of Annuminas in Arnor.

In the last forty years, Gondor and Arnor had enjoyed peace and relative prosperity. The King and Steward were most overjoyed to see the peace which they had not dared to dream of in their shadowed youth. Yet they felt personal losses, hitherto blunted by the pressing demands of duty, more sorely in those peaceful years. The Steward found himself almost the last of his generation in the Council of Gondor. The King, of course, was the last of his generation in the entire Reunited Kingdom. They had found consolation and understanding in each other, as they felt left behind by their friends. Imrahil, Eomer King, and even the hobbits had gone before them. And in a little time now, the King would have to lose his Steward, the last of the Council of Gondor who had accepted his claim to the winged crown. The Steward was not one to esteem himself higher than his worth, yet he was afraid that his passing would deal a blow to the King. For these eighty years of labouring together had brought them close, perhaps as dear as brothers, or even as father and son.

In the recent months, the Steward had not only prepared his heir to the stewardship. He also began to let some younger people take his other roles in relation with the King. He wanted his King to feel as little loss as possible at the demise of his Steward. The King had his Queen and family, yet he believed that one needs friends outside one's family circle. He was grateful that the King would still have the company of Legolas and Gimli, but they did not reside in Minas Tirith. So he had persuaded the King to invite two of the younger captains to join their last trip to Henneth Annun – their annual effort to relive their days as rangers. He encouraged his grandson Barahir to converse more often with the King, particularly on the lore of the Elder Days. The King understood the Steward's intention. He was touched by this thoughtfulness, yet at the same time he was agitated by the fact that prompted this thoughtfulness, and by their helplessness to change this fact.

"Faramir," said the King, suddenly breaking their silence. There was a sigh before he continued, "could you not stay for a while longer?"

The Steward was leaving for his home in Ithilien in the morrow, yet they both knew that the King did not refer to this present leaving. He turned to look at the King, and in his eyes there was the light of knowledge and love that had never dimmed since the first time he beheld his King.

"My lord, you know I could not," he spoke softly, "and would not." The King's wish warmed his heart, and his inability to fulfil it saddened him.

"But if you wish it, Aragorn, when I sense that my time was close, I would come hither for the last time. I have given it much thought, and I would like to spend my last days in this city."

The King smiled grimly. "I do wish it."

They returned to their silence. After a while, they walked back to their residences.

Two months later, the Steward Faramir, first Prince of Ithilien, returned to Minas Tirith. He would not leave it again as a living man. He came to preside over the annual great assembly of the Council of Gondor. In the last three years, he had let his eldest son preside over the assembly while he sat and observed. But that year he said that he had to preside. The assembly lasted for a month, and afterward the Steward stayed for another two months, before he bade farewell to his children and grandchildren, his beloved City, and his King. The King reigned for another eight and thirty years after the Steward's passing.


	5. Kind Words

As soon as the Council was dismissed, Faramir left the hall. He did not say a word to his father, nor to anyone else. He strode in a terrifying pace to his private chamber. All who saw him were amazed, for the Lord Faramir was known to be gentle in bearing. But those who had been in the Council that morning were not amazed. Indeed, if there was something that amazed them, it was that Faramir could have stayed in the Council after the bitter words he exchanged with his father the Steward.

Now Faramir has reached his chamber. He closed the door behind him, sat in a chair and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. Again he took another deep breath. And another one. It had taken all his self control to stay in the Council and not storm out after his father last words.

It was not his father insisting on the almost desperate attempt to defend Osgiliath that embittered and angered him. Nay! He knew his duty as a Captain of Gondor. He had always been prepared to die in defence of his city and its people. And the Steward's decision to defend Osgiliath was not entirely unwise. Faramir himself had considered this course the day before. As his father, he too was loath to yield the River and the Pelennor unfought. Anduin, the Great River or Gondor! The river would always be dear to him for many reasons, not least because it gave him a last glimpse of Boromir. Yet at the end he decided against it. For this was not the time to listen to pride or memory. They barely had enough strength to defend Minas Tirith, let alone to man the outposts. But he could understand why his father insisted to defend Osgiliath. It is an unenviable task to be the lord of a dwindling realm, and these recent years had been hard on the Steward. It would be unbearable to him to lose any part of his charge.

It was not, either, the Steward choosing him for this perilous venture that embittered him. Deep beneath his anger, sadness and bitterness, he was proud of his father for choosing his own son instead of commanding other captains. _For what a cruel lord is he who spends his servants but spares his sons!_ Faramir sighed. The Steward did not openly choose him. It was Faramir himself that offered to go to Osgiliath. Yet he could not have failed to comprehend his father intention. Not after his remarks on Boromir and courage.

It was not the fact that he was sent that angered him so. It was the way his father parted with him, and his belief that Faramir lacks courage to defend his city. Faramir was not sure which of these angered him most. He was hurt that his father seemed to have no sorrows at the thought of losing him. He always knew which son his father favoured most and he had learnt to accept it. And it was not unexpected that one who had lost his most beloved son would feel less sorrow at the lost of his other sons. It was not unexpected, yet it hurt all the same.

And courage! How could his father, or anyone for that matter, accuse him of lacking courage? He had encountered the black riders few times, stood against their shadow, and he was still ready to fight them again. Were there other Captains of Gondor who could boast so? And he had rejected the lure of the One Ring. Was there anyone who could boast so?

Faramir opened his eyes and shook his head. He was startled by his own thoughts. In a wretched state indeed was he if he started singing his own praise. _Enough of these thoughts_, he said resolutely in his heart. There was no time to lose now. He had to make ready, and he had to gather his men. He resolved that he would not command anyone, but would only take those who are willing. And he would not taunt them with the mention of courage.

He was just going to ring for his squire when he heard footsteps approaching his door. Soon there was a knock at the door.

"I bring some clean raiments, my lord," a servant announced herself.

"Enter," said Faramir. He did not want to see anyone, but he might as well ask this servant to send for his squire.

The servant put the raiments in the ornate chest at the corner of the chamber. But one tunic she put on the bed.

_So she knows that I am going forth again_, Faramir thought, _news spreads quickly in the Citadel_.

"You may put all the tunics in the chest," said Faramir. "I would not need a new one today." _Or indeed, ever again_, he was tempted to say. But he restrained himself.

The servant took the tunic from the bed but she did not move nor say anything for a moment. Then she said, "Forgive my asking, my lord, but would you not change to a clean tunic for your journey?"

"I said I would not," said Faramir, his voice slightly rising. In Gondor a servant does not question her master's order.

"But this is your newest tunic and I have just pressed it this morning," she said, "and forgive my boldness, my lord, but I heard you are riding to Osgiliath."

Then her face blushed red and she lowered her face. But Faramir had caught her meaning.

"And you think that one must wear one's best to meet death?" he asked.

She lifted her face, "My lord, I would not hope death for you! I ... "

"Worry not!" said Faramir gently, "I know what you mean. You do not wish death for me, but you know that Osgiliath is dangerous and this might be my last battle."

She looked at him as if in awe, then she nodded. Faramir looked at her closely. She seemed very young, she could not be more than fifteen. And she looked so dejected and sad.

"Are you a new servant?" asked Faramir.

"I have been here for only six months, my lord. And this morning was the first time Mistress Saerwen let me press your raiments," she said with an evident pride. "But they said you are going to Osgiliath and may not return," she added sadly. Then she seemed to realize that again she had spoken unseemly, and she blushed even more.

The Lord Faramir could read much more than what one put into words, and what he read in this young maid-servant touched his heart. O, if it is for the safety of such as her that he should fell in Osgiliath, he would not count it a vain death.

"Very well, child," said Faramir, "I will wear the tunic that you prepared with your tender fingers and heart. And I will count it an honour to march and even to die in such raiment."

She smiled and her face lit up. Those who saw her then would think that she had just been granted a great prize.

"You may go," said Faramir. "Ask Targil to see me and bring my armour."

"Aye, my lord," she said. She stood silently for a moment, as if afraid to again speak improperly. But finally she said earnestly, "Ride safe, my lord. I hope you will return soon."

To the surprise of them both, suddenly Faramir's eyes were wet and tears trickled down his cheeks. What a strange thing a human heart is! Neither rough battles nor the black shadows, nor bitter words, nor contempts, had reduced Faramir to tears. But now he wept upon hearing her kind words.

The servant girl looked frightened. Faramir smiled and said, "You worry too much. Go now! I will try my best to return."

She bowed and hastily left the chamber. To her credit, no tale of their conversation had ever spread in the Citadel.

_Barahir's note:_

_Those of my esteemed readers who had read the history of Gondor surely know that the Lord Faramir did return. He was near death when he reached Minas Tirith again, for he and his men were assailed by large regiments of Haradrim led by the Black Captain of Minas Morgul, but the King Elessar healed him. When he and the Lady Eowyn made their home in Emyn Arnen as the Prince and Lady of Ithilien, the maid-servant in this tale found to her great delight that she was assigned to go there at their service._


	6. In the Houses of Healing part 1

Beregond closed the door and returned to Faramir's side.

"How fares the city, Beregond?" asked Faramir.

"It still stands, my lord", answered Beregond, his voice plainly showed his amazement. He could not decide which one amazed him more: that the City was unconquered, or that the Lord Faramir was alive and recovering. "The enemy broke the Gate, but no one entered the City. The battle was in the Pelennor, not inside the city. Mithrandir withstood the Black Captain, and Rohan came to our aid. I did not see it, but I heard that men from the Southern fiefs came also in a fleet led by an unknown captain."

"So the White Tower is not ruined?"

"The White Tower? No, surely not, my lord. The enemy forces did not enter the first circle, let alone the Citadel."

"And the Lord Steward, how fares he?"

"The Lord Steward was wounded and was brought hither." Beregond hoped Faramir would not ask further. He could never lie to him, but it was at least true that the Steward is in the House of Healing. Why, he was right in front of Beregond!

"But how came he to wounds, if the enemy did not enter the City? Did he ride to the battle?"

Beregond answered hesitantly, "No, he did not."

Faramir looked at him, but he did not pursue the question further. Instead, he turned to Bergil and asked for water. To Beregond's relief, no further question on Denethor was raised afterward. Faramir was still weary and he soon fell asleep.

* * *

><p>It was near dawn when Faramir stirred. He could see a glimmer of sunlight from the window. The shadow no longer lingered in his city. His heart rejoiced. He had not thought that he would have lived to see the Sun shining on his city again. He looked to his left and found Beregond asleep in the chair. Bergil was no longer in the room.<p>

He closed his eyes again. He had much to think of. He remembered vividly the retreat from the Causeway Forts. In his mind he could still hear the sound of flapping wings, the piercing shrieks of the Nazgul and the cries of Orcs. He remembered seeing the blue banner of Dol Amroth, and the red southland sword that was raised to hew him. He presumed that he was taken to the City by the swan-knights.

He had dreamt about many things. They had seemed so real, but now he realized he had been in a dream. Or had he been shown what in truth happened after he fell? He saw Minas Tirith besieged by thousands upon thousands of Orcs and wild men, he saw the mutilated heads of the guards. He saw the Gate of Gondor broken by a cruel device of the enemy, he saw the Tower of Ecthelion in ruins. Was it all a dream? Beregond said that the Gate was broken, but the Tower is untouched.

What about the King? Even before he learnt from Beregond that Minas Tirith did not fall, he had felt a strange calmness within him. He still felt keenly his sorrow and weariness, yet he could almost say he was content. The reason of his contentment he knew not. This strange contentment encouraged him to believe that his encounter with the King was more than a dream.

He still remembered the King clearly. Keen eyes and a smile in a weary face. His face was stained with dusts and blood, and so was his simple garb, yet Faramir could not fail to recognize a king, though one in exile. He remembered Frodo the Halfling mentioned Aragorn, someone from the North claiming to be the heir or Elendil. Was it him last night? How did he, or whoever the King was, come to Minas Tirith on the very night it was besieged? It sounds like a long-forgotten tale: the king returned when his city was in deadly peril.

Was it the King who led the army? But how did he convince the Steward to let him take the lead? If the King appeared years ago, Denethor would have perhaps acknowledged him. But now, Faramir knew, his father would not even listen to the claim of any kings. He had hardened his heart in the recent years. Or perhaps the growing shadow had hardened his heart. Then a terrible thought came to Faramir. Beregond said that his father was it the result of his confrontation with the King? But he immediately dismissed the thought. It was inconceivable that a man should injure the father and heal the son in one night.

He began to wonder how bad his father's injury was. Though they parted bitterly, Faramir knew that his father would not fail to sit beside his wounded son, unless he himself was bed-ridden. Did he fall in the defence of the City? He remembered how in his dream he saw his father looking pale and bent on a staff, and how he sensed a dark foreboding concerning his father. He hoped that part of his dream was not true. He knew Beregond had not been entirely truthful to him the night before. Yet he would not have troubled the good guard further. Some things, he had learnt, must wait.

His thought went to his men. He wondered how many of them made it safely to the City. He knew some of them fell before the sortie was released to aid them. He wanted to find out about them, but decided that it has to wait until he had strength to do so. He felt so weak and weary. Soon he fell back into a deep slumber.

When Faramir woke, the sun was shining with her full splendour. For a moment Faramir stared at the window in awe. _Is this how the people in the First Age felt when they saw Anor for the first time?_

Seeing that Faramir was awake, Beregond went out to call a servant. Soon broth, white bread and wine were brought for Faramir. After Faramir had broken his long fast, Beregond asked whether he needed anything else. Faramir asked of his father. He spoke calmly, but it was clear that this time he demanded answer. Beregond had no choice but to tell him that the Lord Denethor had fallen.

"So it was true," was all Faramir said. He then asked Beregond to see how the rear guard from Osgiliath was faring. Beregond needed no time to find them; in fact those who made it safely to the City were all impatient to see their captain. Yet Beregond did not make haste, for he wanted to give Faramir time to mourn in private. When Beregond came back with Mablung at about the ninth hour of the day, he found the young Steward calm and composed.


	7. In the Houses of Healing part 2

The rangers of Ithilien and other guards of Minas Tirith had wanted to see their captain the night before, when the happy news of his recovery was brought to them. Yet Beregond denied them entry as Faramir clearly needed rest. Now Mablung was glad to see Faramir awake. From him Faramir learnt that one third of the men he led to Osgiliath were lost on the retreat, but those who made it to the City had been well taken care of by the healers and were recovering.

Mablung also brought some news of the King, for the City guards and the riders of Rohan had enthusiastically talked about the King who returned in a black fleet which bore his banner, with many strong men from the Southern fiefs behind him. He further told them that the King, or the Lord Elfstone as people called him, laboured almost all night to heal those in the Houses of Healing and many more in the Pelennor. Some of the Ithilien rangers were among those he healed.

"And is he now in the Citadel?" asked Faramir.

In reply to this Beregond reported what he heard from the Prince Imrahil, that the Lord Aragorn would remain outside the City until the Lord of the City bade him enter. Faramir said nothing. If he was pleased or disturbed with this arrangement, he did not show it. Presently he spoke again, "The Prince commands the City now, I believe?"

"Aye, but only for a while," said Beregond, "until you are well enough to assume your duty, my lord."

* * *

><p>That day the Prince Imrahil came when the sun was about to set. He sat besides Faramir, and said nothing for a while.<p>

"You have my gratitude, lord," said Faramir. "Mablung told me how you bore me to the city".

"I should have come to you sooner," Imrahil replied. "It broke my heart to see you lie so still. We all thought you were dead. But I am glad now. You are awake, and will soon recover."

"And I am glad to see you unscathed," Faramir said. "But what is our remaining strength? Much as I wish it, I do not believe that the recent assault would be the last. We should plan our defence for the next one."

"Perhaps you would find it hard to believe," Imrahil answered, "but we have more strength now than before the siege. The King of Rohan came with six thousands riders, of which about four thousands remain. Two thirds of the City guard remain. I lost about two hundreds of my knights, but we still have five hundreds. Four thousands men are even now on their way from Pelargir, led by Angborn. We have also with us some Rangers from the North."

"Even the Dúnedain of the North came to our aid? This is glad tidings."

"Lord Aragorn summoned them, for they are his kinsmen. There are perhaps only thirty of them, but their strength cannot be counted by number alone. And the sons of Elrond are among them."

Faramir looked at him with wonder. "Halflings walk in our land, the King returns, and the sons of Elrond fight in our war. Such things have been unheard of in Gondor for thousands of years!" His face grew grave as he continued, "Such dark a shadow was also unheard of." Then to Imrahil's surprise his eyes brightened as he said, "We live in a great time, Uncle."

Imrahil stared at him. No doubt he thought that no one but this sister-son of his would consider living amidst such threat from Mordor a great thing. But he understood Faramir better than many others did. "Indeed. We live in the brink of doom."

He kept his gaze on Faramir for a moment. Then he said plainly, "Denethor has fallen."

"So Beregond told me. Do you know how Father fell?"

"I was in Pelennor at that time. He fell inside the City. I believe you should not trouble yourself about it now." There was a glint of anger in his eyes which did not escape Faramir. "After you are well, Mithrandir may tell you of Denethor's passing, for he was with your father until his last."

"He did not die well," Faramir said. It was more a statement than a question.

"Alas, he did not."

After a while Faramir spoke again, "Where is he now? Had he been laid properly?"

Again there was a glint of anger in the Prince's eyes. "Trouble not yourself, fair nephew," he said. "He lies now in the House of the Stewards."

Faramir looked at him for a moment but refrained from asking further. Instead he asked Imrahil to continue his account on the plan for defence.

"There was a council of the Captains this morning," said Imrahil. "Mithrandir counselled that an army of the West should march to challenge the Dark Lord in his own land. He mentioned the Ring of Power and a Ring-bearer that is even now on his quest to destroy it. He thought that if we come to challenge him, Sauron may muster all his strength to crush us, thus emptying his land and providing a chance for the Ring-bearer to destroy the Ring.

"Mithrandir himself admitted that there is not much hope. We are to go to Mordor as bait and most likely we will be crushed. But no better counsel was proposed. The Lord Aragorn and the King of Rohan agreed to follow his lead. But we will not march with all our strength. We have ensured that there will be sufficient strength to defend Minas Tirith."

Imrahil continued carefully, "I gave the Lord Aragorn my words that I would go with him, and bring with me the knights of Dol Amroth and other men of Gondor that are willing to go. But I gave him only my personal support in this matter. In no way did I presume to accept his claim on the kingship with the authority of the Steward of Gondor. I would not transgress your authority, Faramir. I hope you approve my decisions?"

Faramir stared for a moment, as if in surprise. Then he smiled gravely as he remembered that he was the new Steward of Gondor. "I thank you for your high regard for me, lord. And worry not, I approve your decisions. As you may have heard from Mithrandir, I was not in the dark about the Ring and the quest of its bearer. I am willing to admit that their quest is more important than even the defence of Minas Tirith. So I give you my full support to bring a part of the army of Gondor. They shall march under the banner of the Steward."

Imrahil looked at his nephew with pride. "I will send you a report concerning the allocation of the soldiers. And I think it would be best if you issue a decree of your consent that I can show to the other Captains of Gondor. None of them has spoken their refusal to go, but I think a decree form the Steward will make them go whole in heart."

"I will see to it," said Faramir. "And please ask the Captains to see me. I will speak to them on this matter."

Imrahil nodded. Then with a softer voice he spoke again, "I am not sure I will be able to see you again before the Host depart. May you soon regain your full strength in body and in heart, Faramir. You are needed." He kissed Faramir's brow.

Faramir answered, "May your sword never fail, lord, and may you return safe," his voice dropped almost into a whisper, "you are my closest kin now."

His last words grieved Imrahil. In an abrupt move he drew Faramir to his arms and embraced him fiercely. "I will do my best to guard myself, son. As so must you."

Then he straightened up and said solemnly, "I will take my leave, my lord Steward. I will send the report to you without delay." He bowed and left the room.


	8. In the Houses of Healing part 3

Gandalf had not seen Faramir after he awakened from his desperate fever. The day after the siege Gandalf spent almost entirely with Aragorn and the other captains to plan their march to Mordor. He hardly had time to go to the Houses of Healing. But in truth he deliberately avoided going there. For the tale of Denethor's end must be told, and the one who must speak needs as much time to find his words as the one who must listen needs to regain his strength.

Gandalf had decided that he should be the one to recount to Faramir the tale of his father's end, for he would not burden Pippin with such dreadful task. And he would not have Faramir heard of his father's madness from unwise whispers, which seemed to have spread in the City with magnificent speed. The dreadful task that he had proposed to himself almost at once, he took longer time to accomplish. He had had to dig deep into the pool of his wisdom before he could decide how he should speak to Faramir. Even then he was still not sure whether there was not a better way to let Faramir know. But he could not delay this task any longer. Soon he would have to depart with the Host, and who can tell whether he would return?

So it was in the afternoon of the second day after the siege that Gandalf came to see Faramir. In the morning he had seen the decree that Faramir issued. It was an open letter to all soldiers of Gondor, exhorting them to follow the command of the Prince Imrahil, as he acted with full consent of the Steward. Faramir did not command any soldier to march to Mordor, he simply said that "in this grave days, to stay in defence of Minas Tirith and to march to Mordor are equally courageous and noble. The Steward calls every son of Gondor to do his duty, whichever is assigned to him."

Gandalf noted with satisfaction that no other Steward, save perhaps Mardil Voronwë, started their reign with a more decisive act. And with some relief he noted that if Faramir was strong enough to issue such decree, he would probably be strong enough to listen to Gandalf's story. To his further relief, Gandalf found from the Warden of the Houses of Healing that Faramir condition had improved fast. That morning the Warden had let him left his bed, though he was not to walk outside his room yet.

Gandalf found Faramir sitting on his bed, with some cushions propped up behind his back. As Gandalf entered the room, Faramir turned from the parchment he was reading. His face was pale yet not without vigour.

"It is good to see you recovering fast, Faramir," Gandalf said as he sat on the chair beside the bed. "What are you reading?"

"A report from Imrahil concerning the army of Gondor that he will bring to the Dark Land," replied Faramir. "I believe you will go with them?"

Gandalf nodded. "I have to finish my labour," he said simply.

"For a moment I hoped that you will stay here," said Faramir. "I would be more than glad to have you should we have to make a last stand. But I know that the Host has more needs of you. With you leading them, one cannot call it a hopeless battle." He smiled grimly.

Gandalf returned the smile. "Even with my leading them it is still a foolish venture. But perhaps we may learn that foolishness can serve a great purpose."

"It is good that you come here," said Faramir, "otherwise I would not be able to bid you farewell. But am I right that you come not only for this, Mithrandir?"

"You are right, as you so often are. I come to tell you about your father's death."

There was no change in Faramir's expression. He said calmly, "I am ready to listen."

Gandalf spoke, "When you were brought to the City, you were wounded and under the ill-spell of the Shadow. For one whole day and one whole night you lay silent and did not wake once. You burnt with a terrible fever. Words spread in the City that you were dying. Men wept upon hearing this, but no one was more devastated than your father."

Faramir did not say a word.

"He succumbed to despair. He was sure that his son would soon die. He was sure that his city would soon fall. He could not bear these. In his despair he decided to end his life."

Faramir stared at Gandalf with great dismay. But still he said not a word.

Gandalf stopped for a moment. But after a sigh he said what he must. "He went to his death through a pyre he set for himself in the House of the Steward."

"A pyre?" Faramir let out a cry. "Even if the Lord of Gondor had chosen to end his life, what he might have done is throwing himself recklessly in battle. Why the fire?"

"His despair clouded his mind, Faramir. Why the fire, you asked. I know not the answer, perhaps no one does but your late father. But if I may guess from what Peregrin told me – the Halfling was with him for the whole of that terrible day – if I may guess, he thought of the fire because he was told that the first circle is burning, and more importantly, because you were burning with terrible fever. Your father seemed to think that since the City would soon be burnt and we all would soon be dead, it was better to decide for himself the way he should die, and _with whom _he would die. He chose to die with his son, and as his son was burning, he decided that he too should seek the fire."

"He wished to accompany me on my last journey?" Faramir said sadly. "But why should have my death dragged him into despair? When he commanded me to go, he knew that there was hardly a hope of my return."

"Do we not all make such mistakes from time to time?" answered Gandalf. "We think lightly of some things, until the consequences hit us with deadly blows. Yes, he knew that when he commanded you to go. What he did not know, or rather, what he forgot, was what blow your death would be to him.

"His parting with you brought him much grief. Let me repeat to you his words, as Peregrin told me, '_I sent my son, unthanked, unblessed, out into needless peril, and here he lies dying_.' Your father loved you, Faramir, and he remembered it."

"Ere the end," Faramir finished Gandalf's words. "But should I take it as a comfort that his love for me made him despair?"

"It is not his love for you that made him despair. I think what made him despair was the sight of you lying still before him, for it suddenly reminded him of that love, and reproved him that he may have for some time forgotten that love."

After a moment silence, Faramir spoke again. "Have you told me all? Are there still more grievous things that I should know?"

Reluctantly Gandalf said, "I have to tell you one more thing, lest you hear it from perverted whispers. Your father wished that you and he should meet death side by side. He had a pyre set for you also."

Faramir lowered his head. He spoke softly and slowly, "And how is it that I am alive and he is dead?"

"It was Beregond and Peregrin who stayed your father's command. Peregrin alerted me about this madness and we brought you out of the House of the Stewards. But we failed to save your father."

There was a long silence. Presently Faramir said, "I thank you for recounting this to me openly, and not covering it with false comforts."

Gandalf answered, "You are a brave son of Númenor, Faramir, of the great line of Húrin and Mardil. You are strong enough and wise enough to bear the truth of any story."

For some time there was no sound save that of the pouring rain outside the window.

"Was there ... any remains of him?" asked Faramir.

No one else had asked Gandalf that before. Gandalf himself had not thought about it. He knew that the Warden of the Keys had commanded the quenching of the fire, but he did not know what they found inside the burnt house of tombs. He resolved to find Húrin once he leave Faramir's room. The prospect of Faramir groping in the wreckage to gather his father's ashes made his heart sink.

"I do not know, Faramir," he finally answered, "Húrin of the Keys saw to it that the House was cleared. I will ask him to report to you. Trouble not yourself with this matter, at least until you are well."

"Thank you," said Faramir. Then suddenly he wept. Long he wept, now in words of lament, now in sad silence. In his lament he said these words many times: "They will not return to me, not even their bodies are returned to me."

Through this long and sad afternoon Gandalf sat by him and wept with him. The rain outside grew heavier.

* * *

><p>Pippin opened the door slightly and slipped his head to look inward. "Lord Faramir?" he asked hesitantly, not sure if he should enter.<p>

"Come in, Master Peregrin," said Faramir. There were traces of tears in his face but his voice was steady.

Pippin entered. "I bring you your supper, lord." He put the tray in the table near the bed. He looked at Faramir awkwardly. Finally he said, "You look better, lord."

"I am glad you think so, given that I was near death the last time you saw me," said Faramir. "And I have you to thank for my life."

"It is nothing compared to what I owe Boromir," said Pippin. Then he blushed as he realized that perhaps he should not have mentioned Boromir's name to his grieving brother. He stammered his apology, but Faramir raised his hand to stay him.

"It matters not. I grieve over my brother and father, and I am distressed, whether or not you mentioned them."

Pippin did not know what to say. He looked down at his feet. Then he looked up again to face Faramir and said earnestly, "I come to wait upon you, lord. I gave my oath to the Steward, the late Steward. Now that I can no longer serve him, I shall serve you, though only for tonight. Tomorrow I will go as a soldier of Gondor."

Faramir smiled faintly. Pippin suddenly remembered Denethor's smile when he accepted his service. He suddenly saw the likeness between father and son: their fair face, their kingly bearing, even their voice were alike. But when Faramir spoke, again Pippin understood their difference. "It is I who is in your service, Master Peregrin, for I am indebted to you. Even if I were not, I have yet to fully assume my duty and so cannot accept one's oath. But I would gladly accept your assistance as a friend."

Pippin bowed. "It is a great honour to be counted among the friends of a great lord like you."

Faramir said, "Come nearer and let us eat together."

Pippin set the tray on Faramir's lap. He sat on the chair near the bed. For a moment they ate in silence.

Faramir spoke again, "May I ask why you come to me only now? Were you assigned another duty by Mithrandir?"

"No, I did not have any duty yesterday. But Gandalf expressly forbade me to see you. He learnt from experience that I could not be trusted to hold my tongue," said Pippin.

For a moment Faramir looked bemused, then he remembered what Gandalf said. "So now that he had told me the sad tale, you are allowed to see me?"

Pippin nodded. Then to his shame he felt tears in his eyes. Sitting close to Faramir reminded him of the last time he attended Denethor.

"What distress you, Master Halfling?" asked Faramir.

"I suddenly remember the old Lord," said Pippin.

"Do you wish to tell me what you remember?"

Pippin looked at Faramir. He wished to talk with Faramir, but he did not want to distress this grave man further. "Will it not distress you, speaking of the Lord?"

"As I said, I would still be distressed, with or without speaking of him."

His calm voice and manner made Pippin bewildered. He knew Gandalf had just told Faramir about his father. How can one remain calm after hearing such news?

Pippin took a deep breath. "He suddenly looked old and frail," he began, "I cannot understand how that happened. One moment he was standing tall and proud, quarrelling with Gandalf, and the next moment he had to use a staff for walking."

Faramir frowned at this, but he said nothing. Pippin continued, "From the moment he saw you, the Lord no longer cared about anything else. He sat beside you for the whole night, and for the whole of the next day. He no longer cared of the defence of the City, or of anything else." Pippin wiped his tears. Remembering how the old man sat beside his dying son brought distress to him. Slowly Faramir reached for his hand and held it. Pippin was embarrassed. He came to offer some consolation to Faramir, instead he found himself being consoled.

"Did he not remember Boromir?" asked Faramir.

"Boromir?" Pippin said confusedly, "who mentioned anything about Boromir? The Lord Denethor, he seemed to remember nothing else but you."

"Oh, it was only my dream," said Faramir. "In my dream I saw Father, old and bent as you said …" For the first time Pippin saw Faramir lost his composure. Somehow it comforted him.

"I heard him lamenting that his son left him without a word," Faramir continued, "that is why I think he remembered Boromir. But not all that I see in my dream is true." Pippin looked at him with wonder. "Why, at least that part is all true," he exclaimed, "why do you think he stayed by your side all night and all day? '_I stay with my son. He may still speak before the end_,' he said that several times."

This revelation startled Faramir. "Do you mean," he said warily, as if bracing himself for disappointment, "it was my word that he longed for?"

"Well, yes, of course," Pippin said, rather confusedly, "who else was dying before his eyes?"

"What else did he say, Peregrin?" asked Faramir. "Or better still, tell me what happened from the beginning." A teardrop flew slowly down his proud cheek. Gone was the composed Lord of Gondor. It was a beloved son mourning his deceased father who spoke to Pippin then.

Pippin smiled despite his grief. "This is better," he said. "I will tell you everything I remember. And call me Pippin, if that pleases you, lord." And so Pippin told Faramir how the proud Denethor lost his pride upon seeing the deathlike face of his younger son, how he held his fevered hand and refused to release it, how he lost his mind to his grief. But they did not talk of what happened in Rath Dinen. For Pippin could see that Gandalf had told Faramir briefly of it, and some things are better left unsaid and unthought of.

Finally it was time for Pippin to leave. "I hope I have not caused you greater sorrow?" he asked hesitantly.

"Your account brings me sorrow," said Faramir, "but it also brings consolation. And I have begun to learn that not all sorrows are evil."


	9. In the Houses of Healing part 4

Early in the morning on the day when the Host of the West departed the Lord Aragorn and Peregrin the Halfling came to the Houses of Healing. They went to see Meriadoc, the other Halfling that came with the riders of Rohan, and Aragorn wished also to see another. Soon the two hobbits – that was what they preferred to be called – went down to Pelennor, but Aragorn walked to another room in the House. He was not surprised to find Faramir awake and dressed.

"My lord," Faramir greeted him.

"My lord Steward," Aragorn returned his greeting. "I am glad that you are recovering fast."

"I am about to go down to see the Host set off," said Faramir.

"I found myself unable to leave without saying farewell to Meriadoc the Halfling," said Aragorn. "So I broke my own rule, and without your leave entered the City. Yet as a Dunadan of the North I entered, without any claim."

"You called me back, lord, how can your entry depend on my leave?" answered Faramir. But he continued, "But you are right, this is not a time for claim."

"I believe Prince Imrahil told you how the decision to march to Mordor came about?" asked Aragorn. "I would like you to know that I have not assumed any command over any man of Gondor. I resolve to challenge Sauron in order to provide Frodo and Sam a little chance, but I did not command anyone to go with me."

Faramir nodded. "Prince Imrahil told me as much. From Mithrandir I heard the same account. The men of Gondor will march under the Prince's command, with the Steward's approval. I am glad that we can do something though little to aid Frodo and Samwise."

Aragorn hesitated for a moment, but presently he spoke, "May I know what you plan if the worst should come and it is no longer possible to defend the City?"

After a brief silence Faramir said, "The remaining Council of Gondor will have to decide on it. But my plan is to lead the men to join the women and children near the mountain. There is a secret path from the Tower to the mountain, ready for us to make our escape."

"It is a great relief to me that you have this plan," said Aragorn. "For even the fall of Gondor should not be the end of the men of the West. But I regret that this burden should fall to you."

Faramir replied, "What burden do you speak of, lord? To save a remnant of Númenor, at the cost of being held a coward who deserted his city at its last stand? Yes, no one will envy me for this task. But I know that this is where my duty lies this time. Another time may come where my duty is to make the last stand."

"Fortunate indeed is Gondor to have the Stewards," said Aragorn, "and more fortunate to have you among them."

Faramir looked at him for a moment. Then he spoke again, "What about the deceased kings and stewards? To me the living is ever more important than the dead, but I could not bear the thoughts of Orcs desecrating their bodies. So I have made up my mind that if all is lost, before we made our escape, I would send their bodies to fire." He winced slightly at the thought. He sighed and continued, "Now that you are here, I should ask for your permission. For the kings are your forefathers."

"Were I in your place, I would do just the same, Lord Faramir. I see no other way to ensure that their bodies are not dishonoured by the enemy. But grant me one thing: you should not be the one to do the burning. Let some lesser lords do the task."

Faramir smiled faintly. "You are thoughtful, lord," he said.

For a moment neither of them spoke, but each looked at the other intently. It was Faramir who broke the silence. "If beyond hope you should return …"

Aragorn said nothing. He waited.

"If beyond hope the heir of Elendil should return," the Steward repeated steadily, "the Council of Gondor would willingly listen to his claim of the High Kingship."

They stood there face to face, with love and understanding in their eyes.

"Farewell, Lord Faramir. May Minas Tirith never fall."

"Farewell, my lord. May the stars guide and preserve the King."

They went out the House. A carriage was waiting near the entrance of the House. Aragorn looked at Faramir inquiringly, then he said, "At least you have not insisted to ride, Lord Faramir."

"I am afraid I have troubled the good Warden enough by insisting to go down," Faramir said. "But the carriage will stop somewhere in the first circle and we will walk from there. Would you come with me, lord?"

"You are not yet strong enough for a far walk," said Aragorn.

"You are right, my lord and healer," said Faramir, "but I would not let the men of Gondor march to battle with the image of a chair-ridden Steward in their hearts. They have enough to darken their hearts as it is."

"You are wise," rejoined Aragorn. "Come, let us go down."

So it was that the army of Gondor saw their Steward before they set off for the seemingly desperate battle. They rejoiced at the sight of him, for most of them have fought with him or under his command many times, and all loved him. Almost none of them knew the true account of the fall of the Steward Denethor, but the stories of his despair and pyre were whispered everywhere. These sank their spirits, for with the Steward burnt to death, his sons gone, and the Shadow approaching ever more closely, what was left for Gondor? Most of them still thought that Faramir was dying. They had listened as the Steward's decree was read and it lifted their hearts, yet receiving a written message was different than seeing the person. For is it not true that even a dying lord could have issued a wise command from his deathbed?

But now they saw their new Steward. He was pale, yet there was a quiet resolve in his face and his bearing. He held no rod, for there had been no time to craft a new one after the white rod perished with Denethor, but his presence was enough for them.

And at the side of the Steward they saw that tall man from the North, Lord Elfstone, who some said was the King of Gondor. Tall and kingly he looked, and their hearts were further lifted up that he should lead them to battle. So with heads held up high they marched. They were not under any illusions or entertaining any false hopes, they were aware that most likely this would be their last march. Yet they knew that Gondor was not without hope: their Steward stood firm defending their City, and their King led them to battle. Proud and valiant they all marched, the last remnant of the West.


	10. Gondor the Beloved

**Gondor the Beloved.**

The Pelennor fields had witnessed many fateful events in the last years of the Third Age. It was on those fair and fertile lands that the Black Captain, the terror from Angmar, descended like a falling black cloud. There it was that a great number of brave men of Gondor and Rohan fell during the Siege. But the fair fields have also witnessed happier events. It was not the plains in the Riddermark, but the Pelennor, that saw Théoden King of the Mark riding like Oromë and clove through his enemies like a fire-bolt. There it was that a prophecy of old proved true: the Black Captain perished, slain by the hands of no man. And on a bright day after the fall of the Enemy of all free peoples of Middle-earth, the Pelennor witnessed another great event. For it was there that Aragorn son of Arathorn, Heir of Elendil, declared his claim to the crown of Gondor.

Near the north-eastern side of Rammas Echor a pavilion was erected for the lords of Gondor to meet the Lord Aragorn and listen to his claim. The Steward Faramir came from Minas Tirith and with him were Imrahil the Prince of Dol Amroth, and Húrin the Warden of the Keys. Many of the Council of Gondor were absent; Gondor had the victory but it was dearly bought. Forlong Lord of Lossarnach fell in the battle there, as was Hirluin Lord of Pinnath Gelin. Their heirs had been summoned to Minas Tirith but had not reached the City. Hador Lord of Lebennin fell and Tuor his son was wounded in the battle in Morannon. He was then still under the healers' care in Cormallen, and so was Dervorin of Ringlo Vale. Duinhir Lord of Morthond was unscathed but he was too deep in mourning over his slain sons to attend any council.

Aragorn rode from Cormallen with no companion but Mithrandir. Angbor Lord of Lamedon, who was a member of the Council of Gondor, rode with them. Aragorn declared his claim firmly but not arrogantly. The lore of earlier days told how Elendil's majesty was not tainted with pride, and it was said in later days that in this particular virtue as in many others, Aragorn of all his descendants resembled him the most.

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, the heir of Isildur, his descendant through an unbroken line of father to son; and the heir of Anárion through the line of Fíriel daughter of Ondoher. Long have I desired to return to Gondor. Now is the time, and I am come as the King."

Faramir was the one who gave the reply, for the Steward was the head of the Council of Gondor. "The Council of Gondor has listened and will consider the claim justly. After the other lords of Gondor came to the City, the Council will meet and give our answer."

"I shall wait for your answer," said Aragorn.

Faramir spoke again, "The Council of Gondor would like to speak of some matters with the one who is come to be our King. Would my lord Aragorn be willing to listen to us, who represent the Council?"

"I am willing."

They all sat on stone chairs that were brought from the City to the pavilion. Faramir began his speech. "Aside from his claim to the throne of Gondor, the Heir of Isildur is the King of Arnor. Now that the Enemy has been overthrown – bless the brave Halflings – I believe you and the Dúnedain of the North are eager to rebuild your realm in the North. I do not presume to know much about Arnor, but at least I know that much rebuilding is needed there if the kingdom is to be established, much more than what Gondor needs.

"But the greater need of Arnor does not diminish the importance of rebuilding in Gondor. Perhaps it is too early to think of the scouring of Minas Ithil, but surely we can now turn our long-held hope of rebuilding Osgiliath into a certain plan? My heart rejoices when I think that the ancient Citadel may one day be restored to its former glory, tall and beautiful with its dome reaching to the stars. We also need to make plans about Umbar. Now that the Enemy is no longer there to support the Corsairs, Gondor shall rightfully regain it. And what of Ithilien, the garden of Gondor, now so desolate? Surely we can begin the cleansing and planting there?"

As he spoke of his hope for his land Faramir's mien softened and his eyes shone. He moved his hands spiritedly, perhaps without him realizing it. His enthusiasm commanded their attention even more than his authority as the Steward. Mithrandir and Imrahil did not hide their smile. That was not the first time they listened to Faramir's vigorous recitation of his hope (though at those darker days it seemed more like a dream). Angbor looked at the young Steward with a renewed curiosity. He had rarely visited the City in recent years, thus he only met Faramir few times before and never conversed much with him.

Faramir paused for a moment. Looking earnestly at Aragorn, he continued, "Should the Council of Gondor accept your claim, my lord Aragorn, you will be the King of both Gondor and Arnor. Should this happy thought come into fulfilment, will you give us your words that you will not neglect the needs of Gondor? I do not accuse you of lacking in your regard of Gondor – how can I, after you delivered her from the siege? Yet it is only natural for every man to hold his land of birth as the most important."

As Aragorn listened to Faramir's speech his expressions remained unreadable, save that his eyes too glowed brightly when Faramir spoke of Osgiliath. As Faramir questioned the place Gondor had in his heart, he gave them a smile, which so rarely graced his grim face.

"You have a gift with words, Lord Faramir. Your speech gladdens my heart, for now I can be sure that my claim will be considered justly, and that even if my rightful claim were to be rejected, Gondor would remain in the hands of one who loves her dearly.

"The thought of Osgiliath restored to its former glory makes you rejoice. I, too, have had that dream many times, and my joy at that thought is no less than yours. My forefathers built Osgiliath; is it a wonder that I long to see it restored? You said that one holds the land of one's birth as the most important: that is true. But I have not spent all my years in Arnor. I was raised in Imladris, the Elven realm of the North. It is only after I came of age that I spent some time in the company of the Dúnedain of the North. Then I travelled far and wide to many lands, spent long years serving many lords, including the Lord of Gondor."

This revelation surprised Faramir, but he did not interrupt Aragorn's answer. Imrahil and Húrin exchanged a glance, after which Imrahil nodded.

"I give you my solemn words that I hold Gondor as dear as Arnor, for both are the realms of Elendil, and I have spent many years in each realm, long enough to endear both to me."

For a moment no one spoke. It was Angbor who broke the silence. "You served Gondor in the disguise of Captain Thorongil," he said. "I only met you once and I was very young then, but I have not forgotten."

Aragorn nodded. "I took the name of Thorongil when I served Thengel King and the Lord Ecthelion. It is an honour to be remembered by a valiant man, Lord Angbor."

He turned to Faramir. "Have I answered my lord Steward's question?"

"You have, lord, but your answer raises another question," said Faramir. As he said that Mithrandir's eyes twinkled, but the wise wizard suppressed his chuckle remarkably well and said nothing. "Captain Thorongil did many great deeds and his praise is still sung in Gondor. But he left in a sudden, at a time when Gondor needed him. Would you give me an answer to give to the Council, for I believe once they know that you were here as Captain Thorongil, they will wonder at your reasons of leaving your realm at the time of need?"

"There were some reasons," said Aragorn. "But let me just speak of one. At that time the people had begun to give me respect and love more than befitting a Captain. Some even whispered that Thorongil might make a better ruler than Denethor. When that insolent whispers grew louder, I decided it was time to leave. It was not yet the time for me to claim the kingship, and I was loath to see Gondor torn by kinstrife for the second time."

"I remember that time," said Angbor. "In Lamedon I heard the same whispers. My father had the highest regard for Thorongil, but he was relieved when he left. He said that with the shadow at hand, kinstrife was the last thing Gondor needed. It was noble of you to leave, lord."

"I simply did my duty," Aragorn replied.

Húrin the Tall, the Warden of the Keys of Minas Tirith, spoke next. "My lord Aragorn, only a few know that you are Captain Thorongil. In the eyes of most people, you are a king from the North. We are both the remnants of the great Númenor, but the North and the South have different traditions, as you know better than I do. Should the people accept your claim, lord, will you be willing to listen to the Council of Gondor, at least in the first years of your reign when you are still adjusting to the ways of Gondor?"

"Will I be willing?" asked Aragorn, his tone showed his amazement that such a question was raised. "It is the King's duty to listen to his Council. And I believe that the Council will be most valuable to the King at all times, not only in the period of adjustment. I have travelled wide and experienced much, but I readily admit that the lords of Gondor, in particular the Steward, currently know more about ruling Gondor than I. I value their counsel highly."

"So if you become king," rejoined Húrin, "you will preserve the office of the Steward?"

The reply came instantly and firmly. "I have never thought of doing otherwise."

The lords of Gondor nodded approvingly, save for the Steward himself.

"As always you speak wisely, lord," he said. "Now as we are speaking of this matter, I would like to remind my lord that the King is free to choose his own Steward. Pelendur made the Stewardship hereditary, but the King has the authority to give the office to any lord of Gondor he deems suitable."

Aragorn stared at Faramir, as if inquiring why the Steward chose to remind him that he was free to release him of his office. They looked at each other for a moment, then as had happened few times before, they came to understand each other.

"If I may ask, Lord Aragorn," said Imrahil, "should Gondor repeat the answer they gave to Arvedui, what will you do?"

"I have no wish to oppose the choice of the people. Should that happen, I will devote myself to the rebuilding of Arnor. I would like to maintain our tie of kinship, just as Arvedui and Eärnil did."

Amiable silence ensued, the rare kind of silence that occurred when all parties in a council have spoken their thoughts and were pleased with what they have heard. Aragorn rose and the others followed. They bade farewell and went out of the pavilion.

Mithrandir had curiously remained silent during the whole meeting, but presently he spoke. "Now that you have finished your discourse, my lords, I wish to speak with the Lord Aragorn and the Lord Steward."

That was rather unusual request, but having known his deeds in the Great War, the captains had learned to trust Mithrandir. So Imrahil and Húrin left for the City and Angbor rode back to Cormallen. Mithrandir walked back to the pavilion; Aragorn and Faramir followed him.

Instead of returning to his chair, he went to a corner, sat on the ground in a most relaxed manner and began to light his pipe.

Aragorn and Faramir waited for him to speak, but he did not seem to be in a hurry to do so.

The two men exchanged glances. "Gandalf," said Aragorn after some time, "of what matter you wish to speak with us?"

Mithrandir sent beautiful rings of smoke to their direction. "Nothing in particular. I simply give the two of you the chance to speak together. I know you want to, but neither of you want the other lords to think that you are scheming something behind the back of the Council."

The two men stared at the wizard for a moment, then they all burst into laughter. "O blessed Mithrandir," said Faramir, "what will we do without your counsel?"

"Counselling each other," Mithrandir answered. "Now speak all you need to say to each other and let me enjoy my Longbottom Leaf."

Aragorn and Faramir moved to the centre of the pavilion. They sat on the ground, leaning their backs on the stone chairs.

"How is your arm and shoulder, Lord Faramir?"

"It is mending well. And what about you, my lord? You appear unscathed, but surely you suffered some wounds?"

"Some harmless wounds," Aragorn replied. After a short pause he spoke again, "Now may it be my turn to ask questions?"

"You are free to ask anything of me, my lord."

Faramir said the words plainly, without embellishments, but even a less wise man than Aragorn would have been able to read his sincerity. "Ah," murmured Aragorn, visibly moved by this answer, "perhaps I too can be as fortunate as Frodo."

Then he said, "You mentioned that the King is free to choose his own Steward. Should the Council accept my claim, and should I choose another lord as my Steward, what will you do?"

"I will continue to serve you as a Captain of Gondor."

"And if the King releases you from any duty to Gondor, what will you do?"

A look of dismay was in Faramir's face, but it passed quickly. His composure regained, he gave his reply. "I believe I have not done anything to deserve that chastisement. But the King is a wiser man than me, and if he thinks it is in the best interest of Gondor that I shall leave – perhaps to avert another kinstrife – you know that I am ready to leave."

"So you also see that there is a potential for kinstrife?"

"Yes, if we do not act wisely. The people hold the Stewards dearly. It may be difficult to win their hearts if there is another person they continually look up to."

"Unless ...," said Aragorn, "unless they see that that other person and the King are together."

Faramir looked at him and slowly nodded.

"Should the Council accept my claim, and should I ask you to remain in your office, will you resent it?"

"I am afraid I do not understand you. Why should I resent it?"

"Most people may see it as being forced to serve someone who deposed you."

Faramir laughed, and it was not a bitter laugh. "But I am not most people," he said. "I see it for what it is: a steward surrendering his charge and continue to serve his king. It is a reason for true pride and joy, not resentment."

"So it is not because you did not wish to remain as the Steward that you mentioned of the King being free to choose his Steward?"

"My lord, you know it is not."

Again there was a smile in Aragorn's grim face. "Yes, I know," he said gently. "You mentioned that lest anyone thinks that your decision concerning my claim is affected by my promise of the continuation of your office."

Faramir looked slightly surprised, as one who was not accustomed to being understood so well.

"Do you think you are capable to rule Gondor without the King, Lord Steward?"

Looking straight at Aragorn, Faramir gave his answer. "Aye.

"The Stewards have proved that for a thousand years, and I believe it is not too presumptuous to say that I will not prove the least of my House."

"That certainly you are not." Aragorn paused for a moment, then he continued, "Why, then, did you not straightaway reject my claim? Why should you take the trouble to adjust to a new king?"

"Everyone has his own duty. One may be able to do some parts of another's duty, but that does not mean that he should start usurping another's duty and authority. I believe I can rule Gondor well," said Faramir. "But I can never make the White Tree blossoms. Gondor is meant to have king."

His face softened and he showed the same expression he had when speaking of Osgiliath. He chanted softly. Soon Aragorn's voice joined his.

_Gondor! Gondor, between the Mountains and the Sea!_

_West Wind blew there; the light upon the Silver Tree_

_Fell like bright rain in gardens of the Kings of old._

_O proud walls! White towers! O winged crown and throne of gold!_

_O Gondor, Gondor! Shall Men behold the Silver Tree,_

_Or West Wind blow again between the Mountains and the Sea?_

"You shall."

They turned to face Mithrandir. He rose and said, "I say to you that Men shall again behold the Silver Tree, and the West Wind is even now blowing, taking the trace of the Shadow away."

To the Steward and the King to be, his words felt truer than a prophecy, they felt like a blessing.

Mithrandir and Aragorn sat side by side in the corner. Aragorn too had his pipe now. Faramir had just left.

"How like Denethor, and how unlike," said Mithrandir.

Aragorn nodded. "When he questioned me, I was reminded of Denethor. He would have asked me the same questions. Whatever his faults, Denethor loved Gondor and ever strived to promote her interests. But he would have questioned me in a very different way from what Faramir did. The young man seemed to care little for his own position."

"Faramir is as selfless as Denethor is proud," Mithrandir assented. "So do you think this selfless Steward will accept your claim, Aragorn?"

"If someone who loves Gondor as truly as that rejects my claim, then perhaps I am not worthy of Gondor."

"Ah, but you are worthy of Gondor, and I believe that Faramir will make the Council accept your claim. From what I know of him, in this matter he is alike to his father: they know how to bend their Council to their will. He will accept your claim, though it may cost him some pains, poor lad."

"What pains will he have to bear?"

"Despite their differences in many matters, he loves his father. He knows that his father would have never accepted your claim. The knowledge that he is going against his father's wish may weigh his kind heart heavily."

_The verse in italic was the one sung by Aragorn when the glimpse of the White Mountains made him reveal his deep affection for Gondor (The Two Towers, Book Three, Chapter Two: The Riders of Rohan)._


	11. Not an ordinary man

My lord is not an ordinary man. I have known this since our first meeting. When I first met him in the Houses of Healing, I was much occupied with my own despair and did not pay much attention to anyone. Yet even then I could not have failed to notice that he is different. Never before I met someone who shows me sincere understanding, yet firmly compels me to see where my duty lies. I think that is one thing which makes him different from many others. He gently compels people to see their duty, but he does so with much understanding. He somehow understands others' failings and doubts. This is remarkable, and even more so, for I know there are only a few persons who understand his. Not that he expects people to excuse his failings. In this matter, as in many others, he gives so much and expects so little.

Another thing that astounds me is his attitude towards glory. I was raised among knights and princes of the Mark. We see renown and glory as the highest aim of our life. If we are asked to choose between long life with no deed worthy of songs and glorious death in battle, I have no doubt which one we all will choose. Now if you ask Faramir that question, you will get a completely different answer. I actually asked him this question once, when he was staying in Edoras to formally court me. He gave me that characteristic faint smile of his, and said, "It depends on the situation. If Gondor still needs me, though for a small, unremarkable service, then I will choose long life. What gain is it for me to have all generations to come sing my glory if Gondor should lack something due to my untimely death?"

When I heard his answer, I suddenly felt how unworthy I was to be his lady. How could someone like him overlook my desertion? Theoden King asked me to rule in his stead when he went to the battle in Minas Tirith. Yet I left my people, just like a guard deserts his post. When I told Faramir all this, he looked at me thoughtfully for some time. "Do not rebuke yourself too hard, lady," he finally said, "there are times when our duty becomes unbearable. You are still young, there are still many chances to fulfil your duty." Then his eyes twinkled, "And a great good has come from your choice to ride to Minas Tirith." We both knew he was not referring only to my fulfilling the prophecy concerning the Lord of the Nazgul.

To my lord it was always his duty that matters, not his own glory or gain. At first I thought that men of Gondor simply have different view on renown than the men of Rohan. But as I get to know more men of Gondor, I know this is not true. So far I only know one person similar to him in this regard: Aragorn. Through these years, I have realized how he, like my husband, does not care much about his glory. He regards his crown and sceptre in the same way Faramir regards his white rod: a duty instead of a right. Perhaps it is in their Númenorean descent.

To me Faramir embodies all the characteristics of Gondor: ancient, solemn, unbent and unbowed. Faramir often reminds me of ancient sea-kings and elf-lords that I heard in tales. He is so solemn most of the time. He is not a bitter or despairing man, but certainly he is not what we call merry. But I can understand that. He was raised as a lord of Gondor, love of Gondor was instilled in him, and he was taught from a very young age that his foremost duty is to defend Gondor from the ever approaching threat of the shadow. He loved Gondor fiercely, its people and its land, its cities and its history, its customs and its tradition. He always smiles instinctively every time he describes the beaches in Dol Amroth, the farm lands in Lossarnach, the orchards in Lebennin. When he talks about Ithilien, there is more than a smile in his usually grave face. He seems to know the location of every spring and every glade in the woods in Ithilien, he can find his way from Emyn Arnen to Henneth Annun with his eyes closed (I heard this story from some of the rangers of Ithilien), he can name every trees, herbs and flowers in Ithilien and can lecture me for hours on their unique scents and their use in healing. Since a very young age, being the bright child that he was, he had known that strong and grand as Gondor might still be, it was a dwindling realm. He knew that the threat of the shadow of Mordor was more and more imminent as the years went by. He knew that their army was only half of what it used to be. He knew that most likely he would die in battle, defending his City. He once told me that what he feared most was that he should live to see Gondor falls. With all these thoughts occupying his mind for almost every day of his life, how can he be merry? But that is not to say that he knows no joy. No, nothing can be farther than the truth than that. Even with the Shadow constantly at his sight, Faramir could still find joy. He has always found delight in music and poetry, lore and tales, and in so many simpler things. Children playing, flower blossoming, the sun rising, when you hear him describe all these things, you will feel rather uncultured for never having appreciated these beauties as he does.

Though he does not seek renown or praise, the people of Gondor give him those, and something harder to earn: they all love him. During my stay in Minas Tirith following the siege, when it had been known that the Steward courted me, many people told me (some bluntly and some more subtly) what a treasure I have gained and that there was no one in Gondor more deserving of love and bliss than their Steward. Prince Imrahil and his children, the rangers of Ithilien, the guards of Minas Tirith, Ioreth and the Warden of the Houses of Healing, the head cook, even the farmers that I met during my stroll in Pelennor. Pippin told me how people wept when they saw Faramir lying still in Imrahil's arms after that perilous retreat from Osgiliath. I heard how some of the guards and the servants served Aragorn warily during the first year of his reign. The King's quality finally won them over, but the way Aragorn treats Faramir contributed much to their approval. And Faramir, being Faramir, has done his part to ensure that the people get to know Aragorn for the great man and king that he is, and to love him. When I carefully asked him whether he is afraid that Aragorn will supplant him in the people's hearts, again he gave me his faint smile. "A little," he said. "No one likes to be forgotten. But I have confidence in the people of Gondor. They do not easily forget." And forget they do not. All these years the people have shown me how love does not have to be reduced when it is shared.

I once told Faramir to do something for himself, not for Gondor or for me and the children. He laughed and said that as we all had become a part of him, he could not see how he can follow my suggestion. "But rest assured, Eowyn," he added with a twinkle in his eyes, "when I courted a certain shield maiden of Rohan, I did it in whole for myself, not for Gondor or for anyone else."

The children have brought some changes in him. When he is with them his face loses some of its gravity. But with the joy comes also the concern. One evening few months ago we were all sitting around the hearth. He was telling the story of Bilbo and Smaug to our sons, and I was feeding our new-born daughter. After a while the boys fell asleep (after complaining that it has taken too long and they have not even reached the part about Smaug). Faramir looked smilingly at their sleeping faces, and then he looked at me and our daughter. He still smiled, but it was a different one. There was sadness in his face. He did not say a word. He did not need to, for I understood. He was to lead a campaign the next morning. It was not a perilous campaign, for thankfully we live in a time of peace. Yet we both knew that there is always a danger even in a minor battle. He had always been ready to defend Gondor at the cost of his life, but now it is harder for him to think about his death. He could not bear the thought of leaving me and the children bereft. Verily I hope that he shall never have to choose between his duty to Gondor and his love for us. Yes, he is fiercely protective of us. I used to think that when people wanted to protect me, that was because they thought I was unable to protect myself. But I know better now.


End file.
